Count On Me(35)

“She’s not a retard.”

“Since when? You know the girl is a few bricks short of a full load bro, so when did you change your tune?”

“Since now, Dean. Don’t call her a retard again.”

He laughs and he reminds of another idiot that I have to deal with when I’m back at school again. Dillon. All I want to do is take every bit of rage I have inside of me for that guy and lay it on my brother. The two of them deserve each other.

“I can’t believe what I’m hearing. You’re the one that fucking called her that! I’m the one that used to tell you that she wasn’t!”

“Right! I’m the one that did it and I was wrong.”

“No you weren’t. I’ve picked that kid up enough to know there’s something wrong with her. I’m starting to think you were right the entire time.”

Whenever Dean speaks, it’s hard to understand him because he’s so hopped up on prescriptions and booze that his words are slurred and now is no different. I know what he’s trying to say though and that’s why I’m not answering him anymore. I’m going to walk away.

Well, I’m going to if he lets me, which as he stumbles out from around the bar in an attempt to block me, is obviously not going to happen.

“Dean, don’t fucking start with me. I’m not in the mood.”

“What you gonna do boy? You gonna hit me because I called your girlfriend a retard?”

There’s something in the way he draws out the word retard and laughs that completely breaks me. I shove him and I do it hard until he’s falling backward, eventually finding his ass crashing into the table behind him. I’m not done though. I could easily walk away now that he’s on his ass where he belongs, but I can’t stop myself.

This isn’t about me and the hatred I have for him or for all of the things he’s said to me over the years to try and break me. No, this time I want to pound his face in for Isabelle. She deserves better then to be called a retard. Hell, the girl deserves better than to be called my girlfriend even though I actually like the way that sounds.

Just like he does with me when he gets in his drunken rages, I kick at him as he lays on the ground until he’s hunched over holding his side, but I still don’t stop. Bending down to his level and reaching my arm back, I punch him, in his face, his stomach, his legs, anywhere I can get an open spot and I keep wailing away until I’m completely worn out.

“Don’t—you ever—call her—a retard—ever again.” I say slowly as I try to catch my breath. Getting back up to my feet, I stomp into my room and slam the door behind me. I immediately throw myself down on the bed, disgusted with him and myself.

As hard as I’m trying to be different from the way I’ve always been, what I just did to Dean proves I’m no different. He’s right. I’m the one that started calling her retard first and before he got so stupidly drunk all the time, he’d been the one to tell me that she wasn’t. As different as I want to be, especially for that scared, yet special girl across the street, I really don’t think I can be.

I’m always going to be exactly like Dean. I’m going to be an asshole and not even she can change it.

Until she does.

Are you okay?

That’s the text I’m met with the minute I pull it from my pants. I know it’s her because it’s a number without a name on my screen.

I’m fine. Are u ok?

I text back, more concerned with how she’s handling being alone than I am about myself and what I’m sure is going to come the minute Dean picks himself up off the floor.

I’m okay.

I’m really glad that she’s not here because I think she’s lying and there’s no way if we were having this conversation face to face, I’d be able to hide my distrust in her answer. It’s only when my phone goes off again, with the generic ringtone it affords new contacts that I realize I need to assign her one.

Not sure why it matters, but positive I want to do it, I start scanning through the music in my phone, searching for a song that’s distinctly her. I want to always know when she needs me.

It’s apparent after I’ve gone through every song I own, that I have no idea what she even likes, so I do the only thing I can. I text her back and ask her. I could have easily just assigned her a random tone, but I’m doing it for another reason. I don’t want the conversation to end. Just in the few minutes since she sent the first text, I feel the rage inside me evaporating and like Dean and his addiction to booze, I need more of it.

What’s ur fav song?

God let this work. I silently pray as I wait for her response.